


Somnophilia

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [40]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Consensual Somnophilia, Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Forehead Kisses, M/M, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: Mitch is too exhausted to participate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sleepy sex with forehead kisses for Haran.

Mitch doesn’t even bother unpacking. He’s practically a zombie, stumbling and shuffling through the house until his knees hit the edge of the bed. He falls forward, only barely catching himself on his arms, face-planting into his pillow. It smells comforting, like fabric softener and home, and he breathes in deeply through his nose. He sighs on the exhale and turns his face to the side. His eyes are already closed, and he’s still wearing his shoes. And his jeans. Mitch reaches down and sticks his thumbs in the waistband. They don’t budge. He needs to…

“Mitchy?” Scott calls, jolting Mitch awake. His thumbs are stuck in the waistband of his jeans and he has no idea how long he’s been lying here.

“I’m here!” he shouts back.

“I saw your suitcase in the—are you okay?”

Mitch rolls off the bed and stumbles sideways. His balance is totally off, and his shoes feel heavier than normal. He trips his way into Scott’s arms, and Scott keeps him upright.

“I’m so tired. I fell asleep,” he murmurs. Scott smells nice too. He smells like beer and cologne and sweat and like home too and Mitch feels himself sinking, letting Scott and his scent envelop him.

He feels Scott’s lips in his hair, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head before he leans back and holds Mitch at arm’s length. His eyes sweep over Mitch quickly, like he’s assessing the damage—what damage, Mitch doesn’t know. He certainly feels damaged. Damaged and fragile and ready to fall apart at any moment.

“Let’s get you changed,” Scott says.

Mitch is falling asleep standing up. He lets Scott undress him, raising his arms for Scott to pull off his shirt, leaning heavily against Scot’s shoulder while Scott takes off his shoes and pant. He’s finally allowed to sit—to lie down again when he’s naked. Scott even tucks him in, pulling the comforter all the way up to Mitch’s chest.

Mitch holds his arms up. He feels like a zombie again, begging for brains. He missed Scott and his brains and his body and his scent. “Hold me,” he says with his eyes closed. He flexes his hands in the air until Scott moves into reach.

“Missed you so much,” Scott says. “Are you even awake?”

“No. Cuddle me.”

He listens to Scott undressing and walking around to the other side of the bed. There’s a gust of cold air as Scott lifts the blanket and slides in next to him, and then Scott wraps around him and it’s skin against skin, so warm and familiar.

Scott’s arm is a heavy weight against Mitch’s chest, anchoring him to the bed. The pressure is comforting rather than claustrophobic and as Mitch sighs, as he melts into the mattress, Scott begins kissing the side of his neck. His lips are gentle and warm, the kisses so soft and dry, barely brushing against his skin. It tickles, almost, but Mitch doesn’t have the energy to laugh or even flinch.

“Missed you so much,” Scott murmurs. “Missed you, missed you, missed you.”

“Yeah,” Mitch breathes. Hard as he tries, he can’t even lift his eyelids. He flaps his hand against Scott’s arm, weakly pawing at him to get him closer. “Keep.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Need you,” Mitch says. “Miss you.”

“I missed you too.” Scott’s kisses grow firmer, more insistent. He nuzzles into Mitch’s neck. His beard scratches and scrapes and tickles but Mitch just turns his head until Scott clues in and kisses him on the lips instead. It only takes a few seconds of chaste, soft kisses before Scott is pushing forward, dipping his tongue between Mitch’s lips, exploring his lax mouth with an urgency Mitch wishes he felt too.

It’s almost— _almost_ —contagious. Mitch moans and sighs again. He says, “Fuck yeah,” but between his sleep-slurry voice and Scott occupying his mouth, he’s not sure the words actually make it past his lips.

Scott understands his meaning, though, because he says, “Turn over, baby.”

He does most of the work, too, rolling Mitch onto his side and then sort of on his front, caught with Scott’s arm underneath his chest, holding their bodies flush. Scott’s hard against his ass and Mitch groans. “Oh, fuck me, please,” he says. His face is half-buried in a pillow, but at least the slurred words are audible this time.

His body is too weak to move, too exhausted to obey his brain, and Mitch can’t even grind back against Scott. He feels like a ragdoll, and he feels guilty too, for not even being awake enough to participate. The pillow under his mouth is wet—he’s drooling. He’s panting hard, and his mouth is watering, and he’s a mess but Scott loves him anyway. Scott wants to fuck him anyway, thank god.

Mitch slips in and out of a doze—one second Scott’s fingering him, the next he’s thrusting, the next he’s licking and sucking Mitch’s earlobe. It’s not fair; Mitch wants to be awake, he wants to move and help and _enjoy_ this, but his brain is decidedly offline.

“Yeah, Mitchy, say it again?” Scott asks.

Mitch doesn’t know what he said. Scott’s cock is burning hot inside him, spreading warmth throughout his whole body. His limbs are loose and, all the tension gone from his muscles. The stretch is easy, and Scott’s so slick Mitch can’t feel anything but the pleasant ache of it. He feels sedated, almost, drugged into happy compliance. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“So soft, baby, you’re so good for me,” Scott whispers. “Love fucking you like this, Mitchy.”

Scott’s thrusting so deep, and they’re so tangled up together that Mitch’s entire body is rocking with the motion, and he’s helpless to resist it. It’s like riding a wave, tossed rhythmically by the sea, by Scott. He tries to hold onto the pillow, the bed, finally grasps part of the sheet, his fingers slipping weakly against the fabric.

When Scott comes it doesn’t even matter that Mitch isn’t hard, because Scott’s orgasm feels like his own. He matches Scott’s labored breaths, feels the warmth of release spreading inside him, sending little tendrils of tingling satisfaction down to the very tips of his fingers.

He sighs, breathless and exhausted, and he whines when Scott slips out, leaving an aching emptiness in his wake. His ass is wet with lube and come, slippery when he moves his legs—when Scott moves his legs, when Scott turns him onto his back again.

Scott kisses him again and Mitch can’t even respond. He thinks Scott’s speaking; he can hear the low rumble of Scott’s voice. He can feel it. Scott’s leaning over him and Mitch feels the vibrations of his voice in the weight of him. He can’t make out the words. He hopes he’s smiling. He wants Scott to know that it’s okay, that he missed him, that he loves him.

Scott’s lips touch his face again, pressing gently to his cheek, the side of his nose, his eyelids, his forehead. His breath is warm. Mitch flexes his fingers, wanting to stroke them through Scott’s hair. His hand isn’t in the right place, though. He feels Scott laugh. Quick bursts of air. He kisses Mitch’s forehead again. Mitch ha to concentrate hard to focus on what he’s saying.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I love you, baby. Go to sleep.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
